Keep Talking
by practiced poses
Summary: We've been misled; young and hostile, but not stupid.
1. rising curtains

**Notes**: collaboration between rush of the past aka me and escape to nowhere

definitely not used to doing introductions and this format and stuff so…I apologize in advance for its terribleness. try not to wince that much, 'kay?

* * *

Briarwood Academy: it screams scandal, and so do the students.

.

With its looming oak doors with elaborate engraving, whimsical crystalline chandeliers and polished ice floors without so much as a single speck of dirt on them, Briarwood Academy has gracefully claimed the title of "best school in America".

But beyond the ostentatious awards of "highest academic average" and "best behaved students of Westchester" is a world teeming with dirty little secrets, jealousy and backstabbing. Once you manage to steal a glimpse of the world inside those intimidating doors, you'll wish your parents never sent you there. The second you step into the world renowned Briarwood Academy, you'll never be able to escape; your only chance of survival is kicking and clawing your way to the top of the food chain. Attending Briarwood Academy may carry your college application a world higher than other people's, or maybe your friends will fawn over you, envy on their faces, desperately yearning to avoid such a prestigious school as well, but once you meet The Elite, you'll find nothing—nothing—is worth the suffering.

.

Well, why don't we have a little look into our oh-so-famous Elite, shall we?

* * *

_**The Head Bitch**_

With those chilling blue eyes that scream "I'll crush you" and flawless, wispy platinum locks that swish with every step she takes in her 6000 dollar Christian Louboutins, Claire Lyons exudes a control so powerful, it's tangible. She's selfish, constantly composed and fierce. Even when she lets loose and parties, she's still on top. Confused? Wait until you fall in love—or lust—with her. After seeing her personality…You'll be definitely wondering why. With her porcelain skin free of blemishes—she probably scared them off—and her trademark bubblegum lips—natural, of course—, she's the one all girls desire to be, and the one all guys want to bed. She's fatally beautiful on the outside, but on the inside? Not so much. Try crossing her; it's a death wish through means of being completely destroyed socially. But that doesn't stop the new girl—let's just say our snow queen is looking a bit queasy on her throne. With all the heat and tension in Briarwood, maybe her glass heart will melt. **Claire Lyons**, be ready for anything.

_**The New Girl**_

She's the polar opposite to our queen, with her round emerald eyes filled with innocence and cheerfulness, long black waves tumbling down her back and her feet jammed in heart patterned low tops as she skips around Briarwood, completely oblivious to the ruthless social scene. With her coral, bow-shaped lips and her gentle personality, she's caught the wandering eye of Briarwood's queen's boyfriend, which is synonymous with social suicide on a platter. But no, that doesn't stop her from flirting with him and climbing up the ladder. Then again, there's always the chance that she'll hang around the wrong group of people, the trashy side of the spectrum, but she's has seemed to gain the approval of most of the Elite. Maybe she fits in a little too well…Jealousy isn't exactly a good look for our queen. Nobody can begin to comprehend how a mere new girl can unearth such insecurity but one thing is certain: It's about look a little like World War 3 at Briarwood. **Nikki Dalton**, it's time to start paying attention.

_**The Gossip Queen**_

A click of a button, a few words whispered, and the sound of her fingers tapping on a keyboard; Kristen Gregory holds all the cards in a game of secrets. She is seldom seen without her precious phone, scheming aquamarine eyes glued to the keyboard, tapping out malicious truths to obliterate an unlucky individual, as her dirty blonde hair flies behind her when she glides down the halls in her favourite Gucci sling-backs. She can dig up any information about you, every single gritty detail, from what hospital you were born in, to how old your great-great grandparents are. How does she do it? Nobody knows, but be careful what say. You can use her material, but for a price. Not necessarily money, though, but keep in mind social status in Briarwood means _everything_. She's definitely someone you want as an ally. If you get on her blacklist, she can trash any title you've earned yourself, any friends you've managed to make, with a simple text. There've been rumors circulating that anybody she decides to ruin is forced to transfer schools, or even move to a different state. Everyone, even our queen and new girl, know better than to raise a hand against her, so when a certain redhead decides to try stealing this little gossip's man, her claws are out. **Kristen Gregory**, you've rightfully earned your place.

_**The Bad Girl**_

With her piercing amber eyes sparkling with mischief, gold skin gleaming in the sunlight, and a cigarette dangling from her deviously smirking blood red lips, Massie Block radiates trouble, the kind that's hypnotic, alluring. She's our resident badass, the one who comes into class with kohl-lined eyes and her wavy chestnut tresses carelessly mussed. Or rather, more likely, doesn't show up in class at all, trading droning teachers for nicotine fixes behind the school. She isn't a stranger to marijuana or breaking the law, although the offenses aren't too severe. With two breathtakingly beautiful tattoos and a belly button ring, she somehow plays it off as not slutty, but as reckless and free-spirited. In torn skinny jeans, a leather jacket smelling of men's cologne , and her favourite motorcycle boots, too high to be legal with just enough buckles, her unorthodox, cynical beauty rivals even the queen's. Hardcore partying is her forte; don't be fooled by her slim physique, this girl can handle her alcohol—copious amounts of it, in fact. She's flirty enough to keep them begging, but she doesn't stay around for long. So when she gets ensnared in the trap of the most popular guy, a place she swore she'd never step into, its game on. With a snarky tongue and a killer right hook, she can hold up for herself, physically and mentally too. **Massie Block**, don't ever change.

_**The Little Angel**_

She's the good girl of the Elite, the sweetheart, the girl everyone can't help simultaneously loving and hating. Her sugary personality clashes with her seductive loves; cinnamon skin, curvaceous body and luscious chocolate hair. She may be a bit snobby, but she prefers to call it classy. Besides, one look in those large doe-eyes and you'll be falling under her spell once again. Little Miss Alicia is a model student with her Miu Miu pumps and immaculate clothes. But she has a secret. A very dangerous one, capable of self-destruction. In her free time, when she's not studying or hanging out with the Elite, Alicia likes to visit college boys to have some fun. And with all those gossiping mouths exchanging the latest hookups, it's only a matter of time before the news reaches the ears of Briarwood. Will her friends stand beside her or drop her like a used condom? It's hard to tell; this is a private school, you know. And there's nothing these vicious students enjoy more than some outrageous scandal; they'll tear you apart. Nobody likes to be associated with a whore. **Alicia Rivera**, if only you'd closed your legs.

_**The Misfit**_

She's never been exactly normal, but somehow she's wormed her way into the Elite. It may have something to do with old ties, but nobody's concerned about that. All they care about is how pink highlights can looks so right on choppy black hair, and how her translucent pale skin doesn't make her look dead. Layne Abeley stomps around Briarwood with the middle finger pointed to those who judge her, checkered Sperries and patterned leggings on. Her distinct cat-like green eyes can always be found at random protests, whether it be for environmental rights, or human, or animal, or the most obscene reasons. She has a penchant for Hello Kitty and all things eccentric, but what happens when her I-don't-give-a-shit attitude slowly becomes her wall to hide behind rather her identity? Can anyone coax her true self back out even with stares and gossip directed at her? She's never been one to believe in love due to rather rocky family issues, but maybe once she experiences, she'll understand. Hopefully her non-believer ways won't be an obstruction for her heart…**Layne Abeley**, it's time to let the past be.

_**The Beauty Princess**_

Fresh from the streets of Paris, with fiery cascading hair, mesmerising verdant eyes and a creamy complexion prone to rosiness, Dylan Marvil is Briarwood's girl for commercials and advertisements, as she displays a comforting, idealistic impression. She's also the dream-girl of the Briarwood boys with her subtle curves. That is, if you're into the classic, romantic girls. She's the stereotype of feminine, her clothes, attitude and actions blatantly stating "ladylike". So many guys lust for her as she glides through the halls in lace or floral, with her beloved pearls, her dainty fingers holding her limited edition purse—from Paris, naturally—, and on her feet, blush pink thin strapped heels embellished with a bow perched on the ankle. But—there's one certain guy that's a mystery to her and she'll be his Nancy Drew to win him over. This certain guy just so happens to be taken by one of the most dangerous girls in the school. Neither girl is willing to back down. Briarwood will be transformed into a battleground until he gets tired of both girls or someone is killed, figuratively speaking, of course. **Dylan Marvil**, you don't know who you're messing with.

.

_**The Modern Day Adonis**_

A simple glance from those smouldering brown eyes and a devilish smirk is enough to make any girl's panties drop just like that. He walks through the halls with an arrogant tilt of his chin, lazy, confident eyes and a defined, muscular-but-lean stature under his designer clothes, knowing he has the whole school under his fingertips. The swooning girls following in his path probably don't help with his ego either, but at least he actually has a heart—and is even relatively sensitive. Shocking, I know, but you don't notice under that perfect personality of his. Excelling in almost everything he tries, he is the perfect combination of contradicting traits. Having always gone out with rather promiscuous girls, Derrick Harrington never has had a serious relationship before. But when a hot and heavy one night stand with a certain brunette has him wanting more, but she leaves him hanging time over time again, is he interested in the chase or the girl? She plays with love as well, if not better than he does, and is a drug of its own kind. And you know what they say about drugs: it only takes one time to get you hooked. **Derrick Harrington**, watch your back—and your heart.

_**The Prince Charming**_

With mismatching eyes and ebony hair, Cam Fisher is anything but typical. Underneath the shadow of his best friend and the superficial façade that Westchester casts, his shockingly sensitive and sweet nature almost makes up for his childish fantasies of Prince Charming and Cinderella. He's always wanted to carry away a princess on a stark white horse, but in New York, let alone Westchester? Please. The scent of Drakkar Noir is unbelievingly intoxicating towards the girls of BOCD, but he doesn't notice, not in the slightest, as he searches for love, not lust. But what happens when the two get mixed together in a messy, teary blur? After all, hormones never wait for the right one and one may end up with the evil stepsister rather than the delicate princess; so much for happily ever after. There won't be any glass slippers, castles or carriages in this whirlwind of a romance. And there definitely won't be any magic or fairy godmothers; it's a hopeless case. Tsk, tsk. **Cameron Fisher**, you should've known better. The lines in love are, well, nonexistent.

_**The Nonconformist**_

Landon Crane has ownership to striking attractiveness, broody attitude and an unwelcome reputation. Albeit undeniably hot, the student body of BOCD views him as constantly sullen, a martyr, when in reality, he's simply misunderstood. Of course. And besides, when it's on the right guy, sulking can be sexy too. Thrown into a ruthless society of the rich, he is forced into scratchy jeans and too expensive shirts—designer, of course—; charity dinners and worst of all: socialising. There is no doubt that he is part recluse, but he couldn't survive without his friends. However, it's an unsurprisingly secret that he would rather be thrown with a pencil to describe a story through that excessively advanced vocabulary of his. Somehow, this little interest of his reaches the wrong ears. Social suicide? Maybe. Don't forget: it's Westchester, home of the judgemental and the anal retentive. There is a slim chance that this certain someone will hold on to this secret though and blackmail is always a possibility. **Landon Crane**, you better start begging.

_**The Momma's Boy**_

He's the type of guy you bring home to meet your parents, and he's guaranteed to receive their consent. Everything about him is shiny and clean, but that's not to say he doesn't have a dirty side, if you know what I mean. With his group of elite friends and position as president of the student council, Chris Plovert is used to getting what he wants, when he wants. He's the type of guy that uses big words just to sound smart—except he actually understands them. He's perfectly content with his life, but his circle of friends hates how he's living it. Although brimming with charisma, he barely has anything else. No urge to break the law, no yearning for the pounding bass and sweaty bodies of parties, no need for living while he's young. In all his preppy glory and steady grades, dare I say, he's a control freak, a rule abiding youth, the designated driver? Can someone, anyone, manage to make him loosen up before his prime years are over; is it even possible to get him to let go and live? **Chris Plovert**, get ready for the ride of your life.

_**The Womanizer**_

From first kisses to first times, Kemp Hurley has always been number one in anything sexual. He proudly wears his manwhore status on his chest like a badge; playing with girls until he's satisfied, then tossing them aside like last season's Prada. And sometimes, he doesn't just fool around with one girl; he plays a double agent, juggling a boatload of Briarwood students, carefully taking steps to assure that they don't find out about one another. His life consists mainly of his friends, sex and parties. Like a sex craved man on a mission, he thinks mostly with what's in his pants. Though his scandalous lifestyle is no secret, girls can't seem to get enough of him. It must be those eyes that seem to undress you at all times and that eat-you-up grin. Maybe it has something to do with flaunting his masculinity, maybe it's the result of all the easy lays that Briarwood provides, or maybe he just doesn't have a heart. Suddenly, though, the tables turn and he's the one suffering. **Kemp Hurley**, haven't you ever heard of karma?

_**The Badass**_

With his olive skin and seductive red lips, he stands out from the stereotypical rich boy image. With his worn out clothes hanging off his shoulders and his raven hair haphazardly messy, he cuts classes to smoke cigarettes with Briarwood's resident bad girl. He puts up with Westchester's social scene, with its rowdy parties and whatnot, for the booze and the sex. Having been involved in a fair amount of legitimate fights, he knows how to defend himself. Surprisingly, Josh Hotz is an active participant in many of Briarwood's sports teams. It's a mystery how he manages to stay in shape despite the drugs and alcohol. With his sharp eyes, almost everyone is too intimidated to talk to him, other than his circle of friends. The only reason he's so popular is 'cause of his friends that go way back and his exotic good looks, as well as his wealthy family. When his future is in jeopardy because of his reckless ways, will he be able to change—or does he just not care? **Josh Hotz**, you better start controlling yourself.

* * *

So there you have it. The Elite. So perfect it hurts. Too bad that's only a disguise. With skeletons in the closet being discovered and gossip on the latest heartbreaks spilling, blood will run red, staining the halls of Briarwood. And although it may not be literal, you don't want to be caught as the one with crimson hands—or the once on the floor.

So hold on tight and enjoy the ride, but be careful not to get caught in the crossfire. You don't want to end up as a casualty in the world of Briarwood Academy, now do you?

After all, in Westchester, social destruction is a fate worse than death itself.


	2. let it roll

**Notes: **sorry about the wait. i've been super busy among other things, sooo...yea!

* * *

**[KEEP TALKING]**

The heavy bass pounded in the air and the scent of sweat was thick in the air, acidic, with an aftertaste of alcohol. Claire Lyons sat at the bar, legs crossed, icy eyes scanning the dance floor, daring anyone to approach her. She wore a too-short, too-tight dress with too-high heels, glitter on her eyes and a cosmopolitan balanced tactfully in her hand. Sliding off the stool, she strutted to the middle of the dance floor, slid her pale hand onto the closest girl's waist and began to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles, all the while twirling the stem of her cocktail glass between her fingers.

A dangerous smirk spread across Massie Block's face as she felt a distinctly feminine hand brush her slender waist, traveling further down, until it barely dipped under her leather shorts that she wore with nothing underneath. Twisting around, her hooded golden eyes gazed down at a head of white-blonde hair. "Hey, Claire," she purred seductively, relishing in the lustful stares that gravitated towards them. Playing along, she grabbed the blonde's hips, sensually gyrating against her, head thrown back, skin shimmering. Just as the song faded to a close, Massie's lips pressed against Claire's cheek, leaving a blood-red imprint. Tilting her head back, her slender throat worked, as she stole a gulp of Claire's drink. Leisurely, purposefully, she licked her crimson lips. "Nice, but not my type," she whispered huskily, then promptly swirled around and sauntered away, hips swaying. "Body shots, babe," she yelled back to Claire, laughing, without turning around. "Join if you want, yea?" She then marched up to a hot blonde guy, flung her arm around his neck and pulled him down in a heated kiss.

It was impossible to hold the grin back, Claire discovered, as she shook her head in declination; not tonight. Only an exclusive group—even within the Elite— could treat her so carelessly; Massie was obviously one of them. Forcing it back, she recreated her who-the-hell-are-you-to-talk-to-me façade; eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Once again, she glanced around the packed club. Dylan was leaning against the wall in a lace-back dress, fiery hair glinting, as she twirled a lock around a finger girlishly, flirting with the nameless guy beside her. Kristen was in the arms of a brunette, sneakily texting behind his back, her intelligent aqua eyes observing every action, hearing every word spoken. Derrick was making out with his latest catch and Cam was brooding in the corner beside Landon, both guys nursing drinks. Inwardly, Claire frowned at her unsociable boyfriend, but decided to let it go, if just for tonight. Chris…maybe he was off reading some boring-ass book somewhere? Kemp was probably having his way with some innocent, incoherent, foolish girl in a supply closet and Josh would be at the back of the club, outside and smoking, Claire concluded. Layne and Alicia had vanished, it appeared.

"Well, then…" the judgmental blonde whispered as she located another relatively attractive guy—the club seemed to have an abundance of them—and wound her arms around him. "Let's dance."

* * *

She was _such_ a shitshow, Layne thought bitterly as she leaned back against the washroom stall door, pathetic. Her dress hiked up as she collapsed to the floor, convulsing in tearless sobs. Fingers grasped her pink highlighted hair desperately as she tried to pull herself back to sanity.

_You fucking bitch—_

_No, wait—_

The scene, the words, the screaming played over and over in her head like a broken tape. Stop it, she commanded herself weakly, eyes staring blankly at the grimy ceiling. Stop it.

_Layne, get in your room. Now._

No, please, stop.

A couple burst into the washroom in a fit of giggles and clumsiness, perfume and alcohol. The sound of zippers and moans, punctuated by messy smacking, broadcasted from the stall next to her.

_FUCK YOU._

Goddamnit, _stop_. Shakily rising to her feet, Layne tripped over herself, out of the stall to the mirror. Black smears sprawled across her yellow-green eyes and a swollen red nose stared back at her mockingly. Screw you, screw you, screw you, she chanted silently with every swipe of make-up remover, of mascara, of cover-up, as Layne fixed herself, trying to gather the last bits of dignity she had. She stormed out, leaving the fornicating couple to climax in peace.

Not five minutes later, Alicia Rivera and her one-night-stand stumbled out of the stall, faces intoxicated with pleasure.

"Round two?"

* * *

It was the last night before summer ended, before school officially started. Before senior year; before mayhem, heartbreak, and before Briarwood as they knew it would erupt in drama.

It was the last night before everything would change.

* * *

Landon Crane sat alone on the porch for a few more minutes, listening to the absolute silence of Westchester at this hour. When all the parties were over, and the only company was the stars, and it felt like you were the only person awake at that moment. When you could just think, without the hustle and tears and screaming that came hand in hand with Briarwood Academy and the Elite.

They would all be exhausted tomorrow, he pondered dryly, amused. Hung-over and sleep-deprived, high on the exhilaration of just living.

The sun was starting to barely inch its way upwards, tingeing the hazy midnight sky with streaks of pale grey.

5 AM.

Three more hours.

* * *

"Holy shit," The first thing Kristen Gregory noticed when she woke up was the unyielding throbbing in her head and the cotton-dry taste in her mouth. Struggling to sit up, a wake of nausea washed upon her and she blanched. "Shit," She repeated, murmuring.

She blindly groped around for her phone, her lifeline, and groggily rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Kristen gingerly stepped over the bodies of her friends, splayed comically and still asleep. Irritably, she rubbed at her temples and squinted at her phone, wincing at the bright LED display.

_ 5 new messages. _

This drew Kristen to an abrupt stop. Shaking her head in something akin to exasperation and annoyance, she stalked towards the bathroom. Once safely hidden away, she hoisted herself up to sit on the counter, crossed her arms firmly across her chest, and clicked _play_.

_ "Kristen, honey, your father and I expect you to be home by—"_

_Delete_.

_ "Kristen, remember, tonight is your sister's performance—"_

_ Delete._

_ "Your sister has worked so hard for this. You better be—"_

_ Delete._

Not bothering to listen to the last few messages, Kristen deleted them hastily, gritting her teeth. She was so, so, so done with her mother and her father going on and on about her perfect sister and _goddamnit_, the hammering on her skull wouldn't stop and she probably looked like shit and—

"Landon, where is the fucking aspirin?" As she impatiently waited for his reply, she ran her hand through her sleep-tousled blonde hair, working out the tangles. But none came. "Landon?" She called again, quieter this time.

"Over here," Came a distant reply.

Closing her eyes and counting to 10 took more effort than she'd have thought possible, but it restrained her from screaming, so she carried on. Finally locating Landon on the front porch, she was about to stomp forwards and tear him a new one when she noticed the expression on his face.

He looked so…so open. It was so different from the closed, secretive faces of Westchester socialites.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"What?" Kristen was jolted from her reverie, momentarily panicking before she realized he was referring to the sunrise. After adjusting to the light, her breath caught in her throat. It was stunning. A halo of unwavering orange shadowed the sun, staining the sky a faint pink, lightening the navy sky to steel blue.

A comfortable silence settled over them and she couldn't help noticing the way his thick curls rested against the nape of his neck and how his eyes hovered between blue and green.

Avoiding eye contact, Landon broke the spell, "How's your boyfriend?"

Guiltily, Kristen glanced downwards, "Chris? He's good. Yea. We're good."

Landon seemed to start to say something, but before he could, Kristin jumped up frantically, "Shit. SHIT. What time is it?"

He frowned, "5:30, why?"

"We need to get ready," Swiftly jogging inside, she raised her voice to a yell, "Guys. Get your lazy asses up."

Claire was the first to rouse. "The fuck, Kris?"

"It's 5:30. On the first day of school."

"Wait, what? Why didn't you wake us up sooner?"

"I couldn't!"

At this point, Massie sat up, apparently unaffected by the alcohol from the previous night.

"Shit, Mass, how aren't you hung-over?" muttered Dylan, who was still curled up in a ball with her eyes shut.

Massie merely half-smiled and cocked her eyebrow.

"Alcoholic," Layne yawned, back arched like a cat.

Playfully flipping her the bird, Massie wordlessly walked out of the room, the random men's t-shirt that she found barely covering her ass. A collective yelp was heard in the next room, as she woke the rest of the Elite in rather unorthodox ways. Soon after, Alicia stumbled in, wide-eyed, "Hell, I think Massie's trying to kill us."

"It's too early for this," Claire grumbled standing up unsteadily to fix her makeup. "I need a shower."

The front door slammed shut as Landon re-entered the house. He poked his head in the room, "You guys want breakfast?"

Nobody bothered to answer him, too tired or too busy, but Kristen gazed towards him, "We'll pick up Starbucks on campus."

Massie returned with a cup of coffee and Alicia greedily stole a mouthful before almost gagging, "Is that—is that whisky?"

The amber-eyed girl shrugged noncommittally.

"Mass, it's like—" She stole a glance at the clock, "—6 AM."

The girl in question waved a hand in the air dismissively as Derrick appeared behind her, slinging and arm over her shoulder, ignoring the glare directed his way. "That's Massie for you."

The rest of the guys soon followed, complaining noisily about the lack of sleep and hangovers until Layne threatened castration upon them.

Claire strode back into the living room with flawless hair and makeup, commanding attention and leaving no room for disobeying.

"So .The fountain at 8. Be there."

* * *

review?


	3. lights, camera, action

**Notes: **kay, so i know its been forever since i've updated, and i'm sorry for that, but i've been super busy. also, i know this is a short chapter, but i have terrible writer's block; it's not even funny.

so, enjoy!

**[2]**

"I can't believe she—Cam! Are you listening to me?" Claire hissed at her boyfriend, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed. Following his line of sight which was gazing out into the distance, she saw mess of black hair atop of a fully developed, curvaceous body. "Who—," she squeezed out between gritted teeth, half to herself. "—the hell is she?"

"Nikki Dalton," Kristen drawled lazily, inspecting her nails with a blatantly uninterested look. "17. Father, some nameless, low-class lawyer. Her mother works at Macy's and they're low middle class. My sources tell me she's only in Briarwood 'cause her sister's sleeping with the principal."

"Gross." The redhead wrinkled up her nose in distaste, running her slim fingers through already perfect locks, "Kallinger? He's such a creep."

"Right? He totally hit on me once," Alicia shuddered, recalling the intensely awkward and repulsive experience.

"Leesh, any straight guy would hit on you. Hell, I'm pretty sure even gay ones would," Layne snorted as she straightened out her grey leggings.

Claire had tuned out of the conversation the second Kristen had finished. A familiar uneasiness wrapped around her gut like a fist. Her boyfriend was still preoccupied with staring at the new girl, "Cam—Cam!"

"Hm? Yea, babe?"

She stood up abruptly, ignoring the urge to stomp her feet, and muttered venomously, "You know what? Fuck you, Cameron Fisher." With that, she whirled around, hiking her Gucci bag higher on her shoulder, and began to make her way across campus, shoulders tense.

* * *

"Shit," Cam murmured half-heartedly.

Derrick dropped down beside him with a shit-eating smirk, "Ladies. Trouble in paradise?"

"I don't have time for this."

"Dude, why are you even dating her?" Landon asked in disbelief.

"I dunno. She's hot?"

"I bet she's wild in the bedroom," Kemp snickered, thrusting his pelvis suggestively.

Cam scowled, "Oh, fuck you guys."

"You know you love us, Cammie," Derrick simpered, planting an over-exaggerated kiss on his cheek.

"When are you gonna dump Claire and go for Derrick? The sexual tension between you guys is incredible," Kemp wolf-whistled.

"Oh, Cammie-boy and me—we're already in a relationship. He doesn't want anyone to find out though, thinks they'll judge us. It breaks my heart," Derrick hooted.

Cam finally burst out laughing, elbowing his best friend in the gut, "What the fuck."

As they goofed off the way boys did too often, rolling around in the grass, play-wrestling, Cam stared in the direction the black-haired girl had been. _Nikki Dalton, huh?_

* * *

Claire glared at herself in the washroom mirror. She still looked amazing, so why did she feel like complete shit?

"Claire-bear, you okay?" Knowing green eyes stared at the blonde girl.

"Layne? What are you doing here?"

"Claire," Layne rolled her eyes, exasperated, "No matter how huge of a bitch you are, you're still my friend." She drew closer, placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "You know Cam. He's a guy. They'll fuck anyth—"

Her words cut off as Claire pushed her against the door forcefully, pressing her lips against Layne's. Her tongue slipped between the lips of her best friend while her hands grasped desperately at pink highlights and black hair. It was only the slight pinch from the hair-yanking that brought Layne back.

"What the hell are you—"

"I'm losing control. I'm losing control and I don't know what to do and I just want to forget so just let me have this. _Please_."

Layne gaped at the girl standing before her, the weight of being utterly perfect pressing on her thin shoulder blades. Moving smoothly, she captured Claire's lips with her own, sliding her hands under the silken shirt the blonde wore.

After all, she needed to forget too.

* * *

It was 12:30 and table 21, unofficially reserved for The Elite, was basically empty. "Move," Claire snapped at a terrified looking student as she shoved her tray onto the smooth surface. _Fucking freshies_, she thought. _Where was everyone?_

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she scanned the cafeteria anxiously.

Finally, Josh and Massie stumbled up to the table, laughing hysterically, hair mussed and reeking of cigarette smoke. Slowly, in clumps, The Elite filed in. Claire slumped in her seat before mentally reprimanding herself and straightening up. It was the first day of school, and already things were going all wrong.

Cam swung down on her left, "Hey, babe. Sorry, alright?"

Claire shrugged indifferently, ignoring his subtle sigh of relief. Her head lifted a fraction when he placed his toned arm across the small of her back. Maybe things were looking up; maybe they wouldn't be so bad after all.

The thought instantly shattered when a perky, bubbly voice interrupted, "Hey, guys! Can I sit here?"

The whole room seemed to hold its breath. The very idea of asking _The Elite_ for a spot at their lunch table was preposterous, let alone from an unknown, commoner girl. A year ago, when Juliet Rose, the daughter of a world-renowned model had attempted to gain a spot at table 21, she had had to transfer out of the school district.

Select members of table 21 tensed, ready to rear and strike. Layne, Massie and most of the boys couldn't be bothered with such trivial girl drama to care, but Alicia, Dylan and Kristen stared intently at Claire, waiting for her reaction.

Before Claire could reply with a snide remark, Cam grinned, oozing charisma from his pores, "Sure, go ahead."

Nikki giggled, "Thanks."

"No problem."

She moved closer to Cam, inch by inch, until her thighs were touching his and began to introduce herself with a pretty, little smile.

There was a pinching in Claire's nose as her breathing stuttered when Cam only seemed to accept the new girl's excessive touching. She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing at her temples furiously. Nothing could calm her down. She tilted her head up and shot her eyes open, aiming her piercing ice-blue eyes towards the girl sitting across from her, "Layne, washroom—_now_."

* * *

"Um," Nikki blinked, oblivious to all the stunned looks directed her way. "What's wrong with her?"

"Oh, Claire?" Dylan widened her eyes innocently, examining the apple she turned over in her palm. "She's just…It's been a long day."

Kristen sniffed sanctimoniously but said nothing as her fingers tapped on the keyboard of her phone. Suddenly her brow furrowed and she stood up gracefully. "Later."

Nikki, even more bewildered, fleetingly glanced to the other members of the table. It was as if it was an ordinary occurrence.

"So, how are you liking Briarwood?" Cam's deep rumble sounded too close to her ear, sending shivers down her back and goosebumps on her neck.

A high-pitched laugh escaped her mouth as she lightly placed a hand on his shoulder, "It's great. I love it. Everybody's so nice. Like you, Cam."

Alicia and Dylan turned to each other, amused. She was so naïve. How cute.

* * *

"Well, well. Landon Crane. Who would've thought?" With a perfect brow raised, a sneer on her lips, and superior look in her eyes, Kristen stared down at the blonde in front of her. Faster than he could comprehend, she snatch the book from his hands, the one he had been scribbling in just moments before.

"Hey, don't—" Landon shut his mouth and stared at the floor guiltily.

"'_He lowered his head to her—'"_Kristen read out, voice ringing in the empty classroom. "What the hell, Landon?"

"I—I like writing, okay?"

"Evidently," She shoved the black notebook in her purse. "I'll be calling in a few…favours in the future, and unless you want _everyone _to see his…" She trailed off, dangling the words in front of his like bait.

"Kristen, _please_."

Kristen momentarily felt the pang of her conscience fleeting. She chewed on her lip before reminding herself to harden her heart. She did not get this high up in the social ladder by being gentle and kind and compassionate. It was ruthless, in Westchester. If you showed any sign of weakness, of mercy, at all, you would be destroyed, _just like that_.

"Nope."

"Bitch," Landon whispered to himself.

"Watch what you're saying," She snapped.

"Sorry, sorry."

Smiling with glee, she strode out of the room, allowing the rush of power envelope her completely. Claire may have been the queen, but as far as power went, Kristen ruled over all.

"Wait!"

Kristen was beginning to get irritated. "What?"

"What do I have to do?"

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out."


End file.
